


Lullabies Against a Long Night

by gevaisa



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gevaisa/pseuds/gevaisa
Summary: When the darkness falls, people cope and contribute in different ways. An ensemble gen fic about the early days after Noctis' disappearance."It sounds monumentally stupid but it takes Ignis a good few days of travel before he notices that it’s still dark. In his defence, they’re busy fighting off daemons as they travel as quickly and directly as possible back to Lestallum and he is blind but he’s more than a little embarrassed that it only finally strikes him after hearing refugees whispering about ‘the Long Night’."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think the game gave an official title to the period of time Noctis was away (someone please correct me if I'm wrong!) so I called the Long Night after a similar event in ASoIaF.

**IGNIS**  
  
“Maybe he’s lying. The guy’s an asshole.” Prompto voice carries an unfamiliar note of disgust.  
  
Ignis huffs, the first sign of any amusement from any of their party since Noct disappeared. “Chancellor Izunia is, indeed, an arsehole. But his methodology leans more toward misdirection, obfuscation and omission than outright lying. No, I fear the essentials of what he told us are correct: Noctis is within the crystal learning the lessons needed for him to save the world and he will emerge from it one day, ready to fulfil his calling. But we don’t know how long this will take or when he will return. It could be tomorrow. Or it could be in a millennium.”  
  
“ _A thousand years?!_ ”  
  
Ignis nods. “The crystal and its affairs are matters concerning the Astrals. Perhaps they reckon time differently to mere mortals. A brief moment to them could very well be a thousand years to us.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” growls Gladio, glaring at the crystal. “We’re not just abandoning him.”  
  
And there’s really no answer to that.  
  
They stay for almost a fortnight, one of them always standing watch near the crystal in case Noctis should appear and none of them venturing further than necessary. Within that time their supplies dwindle down to almost nothing and there’s precious little to forage in the cement and glass of Gralea. Quiet as the city is for a metropolis of its size, it isn’t entirely deserted though and is occupied by hostile Imperial troops and daemons, both - sometimes they are unnervingly difficult to distinguish.  
  
So, eventually and reluctantly, they finally leave.  
  
~  
  
It sounds monumentally stupid but it takes Ignis a good few days of travel before he notices that it’s still dark. In his defence, they’re busy fighting off daemons as they travel as quickly and directly as possible back to Lestallum and he _is_ blind but he’s more than a little embarrassed that it only finally strikes him after hearing refugees whispering about ‘the Long Night’.  
  
“The sun never rose, did it.” It’s not a question, really.  
  
“Nope,” says Gladio. “Pitch black all the way.”  
  
Ignis swears under his breath. To say this is bad is an understatement. They’d grown somewhat complacent travelling together. With four of them, their confidence growing and combat skills developing, it had become easy to push further onward as night fell instead of seeking lodgings. It helped them claw back a few more productive hours in the day as the span of daylight grew inexorably shorter and shorter. But they still rested and it did help. With no respite from darkness and with only three of them, weary and heartsore- well, it will be a much tougher journey back.  
  
As challenging as it is for them though, it’s worse for everyone else they encounter along the way. Things are chaotic. Word has spread amongst the Imperials that both the Emperor and the High Commander are dead so their chain of command has disintegrated. What remains of their forces are either held together by local commanders, returning to Gralea for new orders or fleeing altogether. They’re so disjointed that they don’t even bother to fire upon Ignis, Gladio and Prompto when they encounter them - Ignis never thought he’d wish to be attacked by Imperials, just as a sign of normality.  
  
Things are as bad, if not worse, among the civilians. The Imperial civilians are returning to Gralea too and they pass small bands of them limping toward their capital in hopes of refuge. They ignore attempts to warn them of the true state of the city - that it’s a daemon-haunted ghost town - and, civilians of an enemy power or not, Ignis worries for their prospects. They won’t find the refuge they’re hoping for.  
  
Aranea, at least, has things well in hand in Tenebrae. With both House Fleuret and the Empire gone, the local garrison commander had aspirations occupy the resulting power vacuum and set himself up as a new tyrant over the local populace. That coup had been nipped neatly in the bud by Aranea and her mercenaries with bloody efficiency so the civilians were free to take refuge in the ancestral castle of House Fleuret.  
  
The outposts they pass have it the hardest. For the most part small and isolated, they lack both the walls and infrastructure to fight off the sudden increase of daemons in strength and number with any real effectiveness. Some of them, particularly the ones that housed hunter groups, are hanging on but many outposts are either readying to evacuate to safer areas or are already empty, their streets eerily splattered with dark brown stains.  
  
~  
  
It takes them a good six weeks of hard travel, sprinkled liberally with maddening detours and delays, before they finally reach Lestallum. Ignis can’t see the lights in the street but he feels their warm shine on his face and marvels at how his shoulders relax, the tension of long nights exposed in open darkness finally seeping away.  
  
They’re greeted with loud enthusiasm by their friends at the Leville. Ignis feels the swish of air and hears Iris squeal as Gladio spins his little sister around. Relief is no doubt giving his hug extra velocity. A steady stream of text messages had let them know that she and Talcott were alive - the very next morning after darkness had fallen for good, they’d left Cape Caem for Lestallum in the back of the produce truck, along with Monica and Dustin and the stray cat. Monica was staying with extended family in Lestallum but the rest of the party was now ensconced in the Leville with rooms reserved for returning members of Noctis’ party as well. Ignis winces to think of the sum of gil that must be streaming from House Amicitia’s treasure vaults to the Leville’s coffers.  
  
Though he won’t deny that the luxury of soft mattresses, clean crisp sheets and indoor plumbing refresh in a way that camping just cannot compare with. He almost feels like a new man as he strolls around the familiar Lestallum streets. Lively music rings out from radios, voices call out between friends and the air is scented with the mouth-watering smells of delicious food from the humblest street hawkers to the finest restaurants. There’s something truly invigorating about seeing this vibrant city so resilient against the grave changes wrought over the last few weeks.  
  
Which is not to say that the city hasn’t changed. Lestallum has always bustled at all hours but it’s not his imagination that the streets are even more crowded with people these days. Even areas of the city that were quieter or less desireable - the noisier light industrial areas near the powerplant, the shabbier back alleys - are bursting with people. If rumours are true, there isn’t an empty spare room, let alone house or apartment, in all of Lestallum.  
  
If accommodations are fuller then Partellum Market is emptier, of produce anyway. The traders are still doing brisk business but Ignis cannot help but overhear that the prices are higher and the goods more limited. No shortages - yet - but he’s conversant in rudimentary economics and lived in Insomnia as it was cocooned behind magic walls for a good decade.  
  
~  
  
Ignis is indulging himself in a light siesta on the balcony of his room when the door slams open and Gladio charges in closely followed by Prompto and Iris.  
  
“Alright, Iggy, time to spill the beans. What are you thinking?”  
  
Ignis releases his death grip on the Radiant Lance and takes measured, even breaths to try and slow his breathing. “Yes, what a wonderful idea, startling the armed blind man.”  
  
“Gladdy! We can ask him later!” There’s a thump, no doubt where Iris smacks her brother’s shoulder in scolding. “I’m sorry we interrupted your nap, Ignis, we can come back later.”  
  
Gladio remains unmoved. “Quiet stalling, Iggy.”  
  
“Yeah, man,” Prompto chimes in. “The wheels have been turning for weeks now. Spill.”  
  
Ignis sighs. It’s the one disadvantage of old, close friends: they know you too well. So he gestures for them to take a seat and join him on the balcony, enjoying the cool breeze relieve the heat and waft up the sounds and smells of the city below them.  
  
“I’ve been thinking-”  
  
“Knew it.”  
  
Ignis ignores Gladio’s interruption. “I’ve been thinking that we have many preparations to make to cope with the challenges facing us. The light has gone out and it may not return until Noctis does - whenever that may be. I believe that Lestallum will be a major population centre in this new dark world.”  
  
“Because Lestallum has light,” says Prompto immediately.  
  
“Precisely. And light means safety, now more than ever. We’re seeing the beginning of an exodus of refugees into Lestallum already and the city has been coping well - so far. But without proper planning I fear that the city’s resources will become overstretched and eventually inadequate. Should that come to pass, I doubt Lestallum will be able to stand.”  
  
“Makes sense,” says Gladio. “And I bet you have ideas.”  
  
Ignis nods. “A few. To my mind, there are three principal areas that need to be addressed: food, shelter and safety. They’re fundamental concerns for every person living in Lestallum and for its future new arrivals too.  
  
“Point the first: food. I haven’t made a detailed study of the infrastructure here but it seems that most of the food is produced elsewhere in Cleigne and transported into Lestallum regularly. That chain of supply is already being compromised and we need to ask ourselves how feasible it is to retain this system. Even in normal times, food transports were being lost to daemon attacks - gods knows how many of our hunts were glorified grocery retrieval trips - and that problem will only worsen with this new Long Night.”  
  
“I don’t even know if people even can farm if there’s no light,” Iris offers. “I’m sure plants need it to grow.”  
  
“That’s an excellent and worrying thought,” says Ignis. “And absolutely central to our dilemma. In light - excuse the pun - of these issues, I think food production will eventually have to move much closer to Lestallum for purposes. Even then, I have no doubt that regular patrols and armed escorts will be needed both during cultivation and transport.  
  
“Alright, point the second: shelter. It is my understanding that Lestallum is at full capacity.”  
  
“It is,” says Iris. “The hotel manager here at the Leville says they rented the last room out this morning and pretty much every other place to stay in Lestallum is booked out.”  
  
“Yeah, I saw some people camping on Pegglar Outlook,” added Prompto. “The views are amazing but I’m pretty sure they’re doing it because they have to, not because they want to.”  
  
“Thank you for the updates. And they are indeed in keeping with what I fear of the city’s capacity, yet I have no doubt that yet more refugees will be arriving by the day. I suspect those who have arrived to date have been from the immediate areas surrounding Lestallum with those who travel from further away yet to arrive. Without expanding Lestallum’s capacity, future arrivals will be sleeping on the street.”  
  
“That’s so dangerous!” says Iris, outraged.  
  
“Not to mention, guaranteed to piss off the city by cluttering up their streets with displaced homeless,” adds Gladio more cynically.  
  
Ignis acknowledges his friend’s bleak yet accurate input with a humourless smile. “Agreed. Sadly. Construction or expansion - ideally both - must be undertaken at once to accommodate an expanding population.  
  
“Finally, point the third: safety, of individuals and of the city at large. As to the first, we’ve been incredibly lucky that no one has sustained serious injury on their journey here - I suspect it’s only been a combination of dumb luck and the previously mentioned relatively short travelling distance. But I doubt that luck will hold as people travel from further away and, gods forbid, the daemons grow bolder and more vicious. Rather than wait and react, it would be wise to conduct an audit of Lestallum’s medical resources - personnel, equipment and consumables - and co-ordinate them in preparation.  
  
“As for the city itself, it has been unthreatened so far but I wouldn’t like to test it in a direct attack by monsters or daemons.”  
  
“Or the Empire,” adds Gladio. “I wouldn’t put it past them to try and conquer the only long-term light left on Eos.”  
  
“Lestallum could not stand against a sustained Imperial attack,” agrees Ignis. “As such, it would behoove us to put in place defenses and institute regular patrols, for prevention and advance warning, if nothing else.” He sighs. “That’s all I have for the moment though, of course, I’ll alert you if I think of anything more.”  
  
“Anything more-? Ignis that’s amazing!” gushes Iris.  
  
“Your genius saves the day once again,” says Prompto.  
  
Ignis smiles, tired. “You’re very kind.” The advisor in him has been collecting observations and concocting plans for weeks. It feels like putting down a heavy burden to finally voice his concerns to his friends.  
  
“You’re the kind one,” says Iris. “The city council will be so glad at these ideas! I know they’ve been so overwhelmed at how to manage all these changes and new people and everything.”  
  
“I’m glad to be of service. Now, I would usually jot down notes for Noctis for these sorts of presentations but my eyes-. Well. Perhaps you know of someone with a typewriter or computer? Or if you would prefer to prepare your own notes-”  
  
“Our own notes? What do you mean?”  
  
“I admire your memory, Gladio, but tabling these proposals in front of the city council is a major undertaking. I’d recommend you take the notes, even if you don’t end up using them.”  
  
“Hang on a minute. I’m not going to need notes for anything because I’m not going to the council with these ideas.”  
  
“You think Iris would be better spokesperson? It certainly has its merits. Iris, you would be prudent spokesperson to make the approach the city council, considering the prominent role women play in Lestallum’s public affairs and your excellent education as an Amicitia. Well considered, Gladio.”  
  
“Well-considered, my ass!”  
  
“Gladio!” Iris shrieks. “Don’t be so rude!”  
  
“Sorry, Iris. You can talk to the council all you want and I’m sure you have great ideas and they’ll be glad of your help. But neither of us is stealing credit for Ignis’ ideas that will save this damn city and everyone in it.”  
  
Ignis rubs his eyes. It is, of course, the great unspoken adamantoise in the room and has been the entire road trip with Noctis - if not their entire lives. Noctis is royal and Gladio is of the nobility while Ignis - and Prompto - are commoners. It’s a division that disappears to almost nothing when sharing food by the campfire in the wilderness or fighting side-by-side against daemons but there are other arenas where it widens to a chasm - interfering in delicate ruling politics is most definitely one of those arenas.  
  
“Gladio. You are the head of House Amicitia, Guardian Shield of the King, well-versed in the duties of ruling. There is no one better placed to table these proposals to the Lestallum city council and have them listened to - except, perhaps, for Iris.”  
  
“Right. And that Lestallum city council is going to love having some snooty Insomnian noble march into their town, telling them how to run things.”  
  
“Better that than a blind servant who excels in driving and the culinary arts-”  
  
“Raised and educated beside the King of Lucis to be his closest advisor and with a genius mind who just came up with three major plans to save Lestallum. Maybe all of humanity.”  
  
“Gladio-”  
  
“Ignis. There’s no one better to present these plans to the city council and convince them of their importance than you. Not even an Amicitia with perfect eyesight. No one.”  
  
Ignis presses his lips tightly Gladio squeezes a shoulder, Prompto pats his knee and Iris takes his hand. He’s never envied Noctis or Gladio or Iris their dizzyingly high positions in Lucii society with all its privileges of rank. He’s always preferred to be a step behind, better to witness greatness or aid it into flourishing. So being blind - with its feelings of helplessness and fears of uselessness - has been hard.  
  
“I’m - we’re - doing this for Noctis,” he says finally. “To hold things together for him so he has something to save when he comes back. I don’t want to fail him.”  
  
“We won’t,” vows Gladio. “You can do this, Iggy. We’ve got your back.”  
  
“Yeah,” Prompto agrees. “Always. Count on it.”  
  
~  
  
**PROMPTO**  
  
“Isn’t she a beauty?”  
  
“Arrgh!” Prompto flails at the admiring words whispered into his ear, somehow managing to hit himself in the face, lose his balance and knock over a pile of empty metal storage drums. It’s only Holly’s quick reflexes that stops him from hitting the ground face first.  
  
“Whoa! Didn’t mean to scare you there! Sorry, are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” says Prompto, ignoring his dignity. “I was just, uh, surprised.”  
  
“Yeah, I saw you looking. Meant it though: isn’t she a beauty?” Holly turns an admiring face toward the power plant.  
  
The Lestallum power plant is nothing to write home about. It’s not big or new or pretty. It doesn’t compare at all to the sleek, modern magitek facilities they saw in Gralea - instead, it looks likes something cobbled together in a hurry on the cheap out of spare scrap metal and wire.  
  
Nope, nothing impressive about it at all. Well, except the fact that it’s going to save humanity. That’s pretty cool.  
  
“Yeah. It’s kind of amazing. Uh. That’s, um, kind of why I came. I have questions about it.”  
  
“The power plant?”  
  
“Sure. And everything else. Like the power, uh, infrastructure in Lestallum. And, well, everywhere else, really.”  
  
Holly raises her eyebrows. “Well! I don’t get too many technical questions from your average person. You some kind of whiz kid?”  
  
He’s not, really. Prompto just likes tech, always has to coolest, latest gadgets in Insomnia. And he’s curious about it - what’s cooler than learning how new things do things, after all? Sometimes he wonders if it’s because of what he is, like maybe he’s wired this way because that’s how the Empire made its MT troops. He clamps down hard on that thought though - this isn’t the time.  
  
“Nah, my parents are engineers-” technically true there, “and they’re always tinkering with stuff.”  
  
Holly just nods. “Sure. Come on into my office, we can chat.”  
  
Holly’s office turns out to be a poky little room that seems to do double duty as a storage cupboard, if the piles of cartons are anything to go by. There’s barely enough room for two small wooden stools and an old metal desk piled high with neat stacks of files and tech specs. It’s stuffy and stiflingly hot, like they’re sitting in Ifrit’s armpit - Prompto can feel the sweatdrops dripping down his back, he can’t imagine how uncomfortable Holly must be in her protective gear.  
  
Holly drops onto one of the stools with a sigh. “Okay, hit me with your questions.”  
  
Prompto steels himself then blurts out, “How long does Lestallum have power?”  
  
“Huh. Straight from the jugular.” She waves off his apologies. “Nah, it’s a legitimate question. And you’re not the only one who’s been asking me these days.”  
  
“And the answer is-?”  
  
Holly sighs. “Honestly. I don’t know.”  
  
“ _What?!_ ”  
  
“I wish I had a better answer for you. We draw power from the meteor and it’s been here, well, forever, if the legends are true. That’s a long time to be running and who knows when it’ll run out.”  
  
“Oh. Em. Gee.” Prompto reels at the news, trying to clamp down on the panic that’s zinging through his veins. Ignis’ whole plan to keep things going until Noct comes back to save the world for real is based on Lestallum being safe, which is based on Lestallum having the power to keep the lights on. If the power plant fails-  
  
“Hey, hey, hey! Calm down - I promise the lights aren’t shutting down right now! Or anytime soon! I just can’t guarantee that they’ll stay on forever. Or even long enough, especially since we don’t know how long ‘enough’ even is.”  
  
Prompto forces himself to breathe calm and slow. “That-that’s good.”  
  
“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you. The power plant is running fine and we’ve had no indications of failure or shut down or anything like that. If things keep ticking on the way they have been? It’ll be fine.”  
  
“Phew! I’m glad. That’s really reassuring.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” Holly grimaces in a way that isn’t reassuring at all. “Power generation is going okay - it’s power distribution that’s doing my head in these days. You know much about it?”  
  
“Uh-” Prompto wracks his brains trying to remember high school physics. He liked school and learning but he’d be lying if he said he’d never taken advantage of the perks of being best friends with the Crown Prince - namely getting the occasional pass for zoning out and daydreaming in hot Friday afternoons classes. “Something about losing more energy the further you go?”  
  
“Pretty much. And we’re responsible for supplying power to a huge amount of territory.” Holly gestured to a map pinned to the wall behind her desk.  
  
Prompto cranes his neck to get a closer look at the yellowed old map. It’s shows the entire territory held by Lucis before the final surrender to the Empire. It’s all spanned by finely traced lines connecting coloured pins, with only Insomnia spared as a blank stretch of paper in the far northeast. He sees the implication immediately.  
  
“Whoa. That’s all of Lucis! I thought Lestallum was just for Cleigne - I didn’t know you supplied power to Duscae and Leide as well.”  
  
“Yep, we’re responsible for the whole damn kingdom outside of Insomnia.”  
  
“And you’re having problems with distribution.”  
  
“It’s challenging at the best of times. Hell, you’ll know that from those errands you guys helped me out on! There’s pylons, lines, transformers, switches and about a million other pieces of equipment to keep running through miles of inhospitable terrain - any one of them goes down and the power goes out. It’s fiddly and meticulous and it has to be done, daemons and darkness or not. Hard enough before, a hundred times harder now.”  
  
~  
  
Ignis might’ve been wrong about his usefulness in politics, diplomacy and bureaucracy but Prompto knows his limitations and he’d rather go to battle single-handed and unarmed against a pissed off mindflayer than meet with the city council. Instead, Prompto keeps in mind his conversation with Holly and volunteers for field maintenance duty for EXineris. It pays a stipend that covers field expenses - food, potions and fuel - with some gil left over. He doesn’t do it for the gil. Mostly, he’s curious about how the power grid’s holding up out there in there in the wide, wild world.  
  
As a newbie, he gets paired with Naida, a middle-aged woman who’s been working in field maintenance for twenty years. They’ve been assigned a ten year old pickup that looks to be held together mostly by rust. The covered cab is stuffed full of repair supplies and tools because no one wants to have to make a return trip if something’s broken and they can’t fix it.  
  
Naida tosses him a safety helmet and coveralls. “Suit up, kid. I’ll check the headlights and then we’re heading off.”  
  
“I have to wear the safety helmet in the car?”  
  
“No, but it beats struggling into gear in the pitch black in the middle of nowhere with daemons prowling around on all sides. You really want to die trying to do up your zipper?”  
  
Good point. “Hell no.”  
  
“That’s what I thought,” she laughs. “C’mon, let’s get going”  
  
They’ve been assigned to the Old Lestallum and its immediate vicinity, which isn’t too far considering how far the power grid stretches. It’s one of the area of pylons Holly sent the guys on before so Prompto’s pretty familiar with it all. Still, he feels a thrill of nervousness as Naida drives away from the light of Lestallum. Away from the city it’s so dark that it feels like something actually pressing down on Prompto from above. He can the stars shining but they look so cold and far away, nothing like the comforting warm yellow lights back in Lestallum. He shivers as he hears daemons skitter and screech off the side of the road.  
  
It’s a short drive to Old Lestallum, barely an hour, but he heaves a sigh of relief as Naida pulls up right in front of the gas station and they’re bathed in its lights as they climb out of the truck. The shopkeeper sees them coming and hurries to unlock the door.  
  
“Locking up all the time now?” Naida remarks. “That’s a first. Problems with thieves, Sam?”  
  
Sam the shopkeeper shakes his head but throws and anxious look out into the darkness as he ushers them in. “Naw. Just being careful. I thought I heard some daemons trying the handle the other day. Probably my imagination - they could just smash the windows in, right? But, peace of mind and all.” He shrugs. “So I lock the place up, even when I’m inside.”  
  
“Makes sense, dude,” Prompto agrees. “Whole new world out there.”  
  
No one finds that very reassuring.  
  
“Right, just a routine maintenance,” Naida says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “How’s the power running? Any outages? Any problems at all?”  
  
Sam reports there are no problems so Prompto and Naida head outside to check his onsite equipment. It’s a two person job now - Naida to do the checking and Prompto to hold up the light and keep an eye out for daemons. She’s fast and thorough, replaces a rusted out screw, and within five minutes they’re back in the car and driving up to the road to the pylons.  
  
“The next bit harder,” says Naida, not taking her eyes off the road. “Holly tells me you’ve done this before.”  
  
“Kind of,” says Prompto. “Climb to the top of the pylon and check the transformer’s on and running. But, uh, last time my friend did the climbing and checking. Not me.”  
  
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Keep your helmet light on and climb slow and steady - you’ll make it in one piece. You’ll be faster at climbing these pylons than me and my arthritic knee and the transformers are easy enough - flick the switch and if the green light comes on, it’s all running fine.”  
  
“What if it’s not running fine?”  
  
“We’ll swear a lot and I’ll have to climb up anyway.”  
  
Prompto laughs. “Okay. Um, what will you be doing while I’m on the ground?”  
  
“Guarding the truck and supplies. We had an incident just after the Long Night fell when we were still doing maintenance solo - while Lexie was up the pylon, daemons trashed the truck and everything inside it. Took her four days to walk home in the fucking dark armed with nothing but a spanner and a screwdriver.”  
  
“Oh, man,” Prompto breathes.  
  
“Yeah. It’s a damned miracle she made it back alive. So. You ready?”  
  
“As I’ll ever be.”  
  
He’s not afraid of heights but it feels like the wind picks up as soon as he steps on the ladder and only gets worse the higher he climbs. After a really violent gust, he’s suddenly grateful that he’s wearing the work coveralls instead of his own layers of gear - dressing cool is one thing, falling to his death because of fashion is another!  
  
He makes it to the top in one piece without too much trouble though then stares at the battered metal boxes in front of him. There are a couple of weird dials and levers and that’s probably the green light that’s supposed to come on so how-? Ah! He thumbs the switch in front of it and heaves a sigh of relief and the green light shines, bright and strong. All good, he can turn it off and get out of here-  
  
Later on, he can’t remember what made him look up. Maybe the brush of web against his hair or a change in the humming of the lines. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make him glance up and see the biggest, hairiest demonic spider he’s ever encountered outside of his worst bug-filled nightmares. Its body is about the size of a fully grown chocobo but add on the length of its legs - multi-jointed and covered in stiff, bristling hair - and it’s as big as a car. It’s grown some kind of weird bone collar around it’s neck, dark yellow like old lace, and it’s giving off a weird purple glow all over. In the the dim light, Prompto can see its thick mandibles are chewing into one of the thick wires connecting this pylon to the next.  
  
He doesn’t even have time to scream. He’s unholstered his Quicksilver and squeezed the trigger, aiming right into it’s bulging abdomen. The bullet tears a massive hole into the spider daemon and wet ropes of purple-red gore drop down - Prompto does scream then as it splatters and stings on his uncovered face. He screams even louder when the spider daemon, still alive, swings its head towards him and lets out an angry, high-pitched chitter before releasing the wires it’s clinging and letting itself fall.  
  
Quick reflexes have Prompto leaping back - one second slower and the spider would’ve landed _on his face_ \- but he’s got nowhere to go. He’s no combat expert like Gladio but he’s been in enough fights this trip to have figured out the quirks of using firearms. They need to get close to do damage but not too close or he’ll take hits and eventually go down, this time with no one close enough to revive him with a convenient phoenix down. The pylon platform has no room to manoeuvre so the only way down he has is the ladder.  
  
It’s a mistake and he’s going to die. He dual wields but unless he’s going to fight hanging upside down from his ankles, he’s down to sheeting with his right hand as he clings to the ladder with his left. To make things worse, the daemon spider’s still got full use of all eight legs and is skittering down the ladder and gaining fast. Prompto falls into a desperate rhythm - shoot then scramble down a few more rungs as the spider’s stunned then shoot again when it readies to strike, hopefully beating it to the punch. He aims for its flat blank eyes, the thick joints of its many legs and its wounded abdomen but the thing still keeps coming.  
  
He almost falls on his ass when he finally hits the ground - climbing down the ladder, fighting the whole time, felt like half a second but also forever. The spider daemon lunges forward and Prompto can feel the breeze the snapping mandibles make an inch away from his face but he has the gun up and he’s squeezing the trigger, letting off an endless stream of bullets, and the thing’s face finally collapses in a final shower of gore. The whole thing, from first shot to last with a mad scramble down the ladder in between, probably took a minute.  
  
Prompto rolls over and throws up.  
  
His hands - steady and sure during combat - shake as Naida gives him a shot of liquor from her hip flask and uses the rest to clean the scratches and burns on his face. But they’re steady by the time the dries the last of the liquor from a big cut next to his ear.  
  
He feels tired and empty and wants nothing more than to fall into his soft bed at the Leville and sleep. But he shakes himself awake and says, “It was chewing it at the power lines. The spider. Daemon. Thing.”  
  
Naida looks up, staring at the lines through narrowed eyes. “How bad?”  
  
Prompto closes his eyes, tries to block out the horror of the spider and focus on the lines. “Fraying. But holding. If we hadn’t come though-” He shivers. “I don’t know if it was, like, feeding on the power from the line? Or trying to sabotage the line?” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to brush the thought away. Daemons are bad enough. Smart, thinking daemons that have strategies to fight against people? That’s a thought that’ll keep him up at night. “Maybe I’m just freaking out. I don’t know.”  
  
Naida heaves a sigh and claps him on the shoulder. “Above our pay grade, kid. We’ll pass the news onto Holly and the higher up - they can decide how to deal with it. We might get lucky and it might be a one off. Or they might start running more frequent maintenance, station people out at the pylons full time. You did good today though so let’s head home.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.” Prompto climbs into the truck, bones aching, and watches the lines for daemons the whole trip back to Lestallum.  
  
~  
  
Driving from Lestallum to Hammerhead is a big deal these days. It’s far enough and dangerous enough that everyone wants to get as much out of it as possible. It means using one of the bigger trucks to deliver and bring back as much stuff as they can carry, taking a bigger crew of passengers so they can do everything they need in the area safely in a big group and taking a bigger crew of hunters too to help defend the equipment and the people. It makes Prompto miss the old days of just leaping into the Regalia and driving off on a whim with the top down.  
  
He’s not really complaining though because it’s the first time in awhile all three of them are heading out together again. They’re headed to Insomnia to collect data and records from the Citadel Archive - Iggy’s idea - with Talcott, Iris and Cor are coming along to lend a hand as fellow Insomnians. They’re going by way of Hammerhead and Prompto’s never one to pass up the opportunity to visit its Grease Monkey Goddess.  
  
Lestallum to Hammerhead would’ve been an easy day trip in the before but in this old weighed down truck it’s two days of non-stop driving in shifts - no one bothers to stop overnight anymore because, well, it’s always night. You want to get where you’re going as fast as you can these days. Nothing bad happens - no daemon attacks, no truck breaking down - but it’s still a relief to roll through the gates at Hammerhead and have them swing shut behind them.  
  
~  
  
**CINDY**  
  
“Hey, Cindy! Do you want-”  
  
Oh, lord.  
  
It’s not that he’s not a nice kid - he is, they all are, even the prince. Real different from what she was expecting the first time they rolled into Hammerhead pushing that purdy black Regalia. They were obviously cashed up Crown City boys out on their first adventure in the sticks and she was ready for snide comments and bad behaviour. It was a nice surprise that they were, well, pretty nice! Helped out Takka with finding ingredients, Dave with collecting lost dog tags and taking out the dangerous pests roaming around.  
  
And never, not once, let their hands stray where they shouldn’t or their eyes linger too long or any ugly words about her (or anyone else).  
  
Sure, it was obvious the blond kid - Prompto? - was nursing a bit of a crush but it was pretty harmless, considering. Nothing more than lots of stammering and blushing. She’d thought he was going to faint that time he asked her to join them for a milkshake at Takka’s, he was so nervous.  
  
Of course, that was before.  
  
She hates to think on it. But Hammerhead’s shakier than it used to be. Before they had some trade out of Insomnia and were a nice convenient stopping point for local hunters and farmers. Self sufficient, for the most part. Not since the Long Night fell though. Now they need power all the way from Lestallum and the only thing coming out of the Crown City are more daemons, bigger and badder by the day. Hammerhead is young woman, an old man and a middle-aged chef trying to hold a frontier fort against the darkness and it’s dangerous in a way it weren’t before.  
  
She’s not the only one to notice either. The place is as much a hunter station as a service station these days and there’s lot of new faces around. Mostly it’s good - an extra set of hands or pair of eyes. But sometimes those hands think Cindy owes them a squeeze or a grope for helping out. She knocked them out - literally, her spanner’s Crown City made and is plenty hefty - with nothing but moral support from everybody else and but it’s early days yet. What if it comes down to a kiss - or more - from her for power to run the lights or food to stock the kitchen? What will people do then? What will _she_ do?  
  
They’re dark thoughts and ugly but they’re swirling around in her head when she spins around at that kid calling her name. She forces a smile.  
  
“Whoo-ee, it’s been busy around here! Not so many cars to fix but fewer parts to fix ’em with, you know? I barely have time to eat! So it’s real sweet of you but dating’s not on the cards for me right now-”  
  
“Huh? But-”  
  
“-what with looking after Paw-paw and Takka and with the extra hunters coming through these days. You understand, don’t you? I know it must feel sore and I’m sure there’s plenty of pretty girls who’d love to walk out with a nice boy like you-”  
  
“-but- uh, I don’t-”  
  
“-it’s just not the right time for me. But we always appreciate your support out here, of course! Without the power from Lestallum we’d be relying on candles and oil lamps, can you imagine? And y’all are always welcome at the Hammerhead! It’s-”  
  
“I don’t want to go out with you!” The kid looks like he wants to melt into a puddle and just disappear, he’s so miserable. “I mean-unless you-. No-uh, you said you didn’t-” He forces himself to stop and takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I mean, I was just wondering if you want any help setting up the portable generator?” He lifts up a battered carton.  
  
Well. That’s a surprise. The kid looks embarrassed - who wouldn’t be? - but he didn’t get mean and lash out and that’s a damn sight more than she’d been expecting. More importantly though, he’s got the generator.  
  
So she offers a slightly more genuine smile and says, “Sure! I’ve been waiting for Holly’s baby for weeks now.”  
  
They haul the box over to the work bench in the shop and start unpacking. The portable generator’s nothing fancy, just a battered metal box with a bunch of dials, switches and fans. But it’s worth its weight in gold and, if it works, it’ll keep Hammerhead running.  
  
“Did Holly tell you what it is?”  
  
The kid has a spiracorn-in-the-headlights looks on his face, like teacher’s called on him in class but he hasn’t done his homework. “Um, emergency portable generator?”  
  
“Right! The big power plant in Lestallum runs on heat and crystals left over from the meteor crash. But it means that that power has to travel all the way from Lestallum out here to Hammerhead.”  
  
“And sometimes lines go down because of bad weather or daemons!”  
  
“Or just sheer wear and tear. But either way, it means the power goes out here in Hammerhead. So Holly, genius that she is, has been working on this beauty here. The principle’s the same as the big power plant but on a smaller scale.”  
  
“Wow.” The kid stares at the generator like it’s coolest new tech out of Crown City. Maybe he’s just being polite - or trying a new tactic to get into her pants - but Cindy has the sneaking suspicion he’s impressed for real. It makes her think a little better of him.  
  
“Wow is right. Of course, it’s not as powerful as the big one and it won’t run as long but it’ll do in a pinch when the lines go down.” She starts connecting up the generator to the main lines and energy box powering Hammerhead.  
  
“Uh, Cindy?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I know the main power plant uses the meteor to run on - heat and crystals, right. What’s this going to run on? You’re a lot further from the meteor out here.”  
  
“That’s a good question. See, when it crashed, it heated up the rock all around and threw up a bunch of smaller crystal shards all over the area. The ground’s not so hot out here by Hammerhead so this little baby’s gonna run on just on crystals. Smaller ones, so less power, but there’s plenty around all over the place.”  
  
The tech’s amazing, a real gamechanger for small outposts like Hammerhead. It means they’re less dependent on help from outside and more self-sufficient, like they used to be.  
  
~  
  
**TAKKA**  
  
He hasn’t cooked like this since he was a kid helping his grandma in the shelter kitchen - giant pots of stews bubbling away, endless loaves of baking bread, huge slabs of roasting meat, mountains of mash potatoes. Nothing fancy, just plain good food that sticks to your ribs and keeps you going.  
  
The hunters bring in the meat, not to mention vegetables and fruit they foraged too. Cultivated stuff is harder to come by but Takka’s long since stopped being surprised at people paying their way with packets of pasta or bags of rice - flour is worth more than gold ore these days. He almost kissed the lady with the small packs of spices in her suitcase and he proposed to the man with the herb cuttings. In the end Takka had traded a crate of a hundred potions for the duplicate cuttings the guy had packed and called it a bargain - the herbs were growing up happy and safe and the diner’s meals were tastier for it.  
  
That was how things were out here these days. Gil could still get you things, though not as much as you’d think, but if you had something worth trading? You could practically name your price. Hammerhead was lucky - it sat on a main road and was closeby enough to get a little bit of everything. Plenty of gil from the refugees trickling out of Insomnia in the north, some seafood coming from that way too - Astrals knew no one was braving the distance from Galdin Quay just so Takka could serve trevally once in awhile. Good hunting and forage came up from inland though and Lestallum was sending out supplies and tech all around.  
  
Not that Hammerhead was just taking - no, sir, they were doing their part and giving plenty to those in need. Food, for a start. Takka was cooking three squares a day for anyone passing through but if he was awake the kitchen was open, really - he wasn’t raised to turn away the hungry when he could feed them.  
  
Sometimes it wasn’t the food they really needed though: it was respite. The lights of Hammerhead shining bright after days - weeks, even - of trudging through the dark with death and danger circling all around. It meant food but it also meant somewhere to lie down and rest, somewhere to be safe, at least for awhile. Until they felt strong enough to walk out into the darkness again.  
  
Some stayed a night. Just rolled their sleeping bags out in the shadow of a fence and then rolled it right back up after a few hours, ready to move on. Other stayed longer, found themselves a cleared corner in one of the empty sheds - the service station wasn’t doing the business it used to - lent a hand in the kitchen or with repairs or fetching and carrying. Whatever needed doing and there was always something that needed doing.  
  
Some faces got familiar, either because they stayed or because they kept coming back. They all had the same looking coming through the gates though and as long as they kept coming, Hammerhead would keep helping them and Takka would keep feeding them, one spoonful at a time.  
  
~  
  
**VYV**  
  
Vyv’s no chump - he’s the Meteor King, President and CEO of the best tabloid in Insomnia. You want photos of D-list celebrities in skimpy bikinis or gossip about who’s screwing who or who’s putting what up their nose? He’s your guy. But he ain’t fooling himself. He’s not running the Crown City Times or the Insomnia Post and the serious stuff like international politics or stock market analysis don’t grace the pages of the Meteor. He’s no pillar of the Fourth Estate and he’s not rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty.  
  
So it’s surprise to get an invitation to lunch at the Leville to meet with Ignis Scientia. Vyv might not be invited to dine at the Citadel but he knows who’s who - it’s his business, after all, and you never know who’s going to disgrace themselves stumbling out the clubs late at night. Not that there’s a whiff of anything like that with this guy Scientia. He’s one of Prince Noctis’ crew and they’ve been tight since they were both knee high but the guy doesn’t seem to do anything but go to boring meetings of even more boring committees, read and write reports and cook stuff.  
  
The guy was strictly behind the scenes back in Insomnia but he’s stepped into the limelight here in Lestallum. Rumour has it he’s got a seat at the city council table and they’re listening to what he’s saying. No outrage - so far - so what he’s saying is probably sensible but it’s interesting. Interesting enough that Vyv accepts the lunch invitation and puts on a new T-shirt before heading out to meet.  
  
Vyv’s got plenty of gil these days, more than enough to stay at the Leville, if he wanted to. The place is stuffy though, very ‘olde worlde’ elegance, and he prefers the Outlook Resort - modern, that’s what he likes. Still, strolling into the Leville he’s got to admit that it’s a classy place. Dark, polished wood carved up all fancy, silk cushions on the chairs and so many servants in their stiff uniforms, bowing and scraping every two seconds. They train them good too - the old guy in the fancy hat who greets him doesn’t even bat an eye at Vyv in T-shirts, cargo pants and sneakers, just ushers him up to the private dining room and leaves him with a bow. Doesn’t even wait for a tip. Like he said, a real classy joint.  
  
The lunch setup isn’t what he was expecting in the Leville though - no crisp white tablecloths, no shining silverware, no fancy chef in a tall white hat. Instead, this Ignis Scientia guy has his sleeves rolled up as he’s laying meat skewers on an open flame grill, drizzling it all in some kind of sauce that smells so good Vyv’s mouth is watering.  
  
“Ah, Mr Vyv! Just in time for lunch. Please come and join me - the behemoth steak is just ready.”  
  
Well, you don’t have to call Vyv to the table twice, especially not once he gets a taste of the food. There’s been no food shortages in Lestallum - thank the Six - not with hunters passing through every day with fresh meat. And the Lestallum cooks know their stuff - Vyv’s had to go up a notch in his belt. But Scientia gives them a run for their money. He puts an endless line of plates in front of Vyv - behemoth, sea bass, barramundi, cockatrice, basilisk, garula, sahagin, even catoblepas. By the time Vyv’s wiping his mouth after dessert - abramilk chocolate cheesecake topped with ulwaat berries - his pants are so tight the button’s one deep breath away from popping off.  
  
“Okay, okay. You got me. I been on dates that put in less effort to woo me, Mr Scientia. But what d’you say we down to business?”  
  
“Very well, let’s,” Scientia says, quirking his lips. He pours them both another glass of wine then takes the seat opposite. “I read your coverage of Prince Noctis’ disappearance with a great deal of interest.”  
  
“Oh, man! You know, most people who want to sue me just sent rude threatening letters to my lawyers. Not that I don’t appreciate the personal touch you have here.”  
  
“Please don’t misunderstand, Mr Vyv. I thought your coverage was excellent. And, I suspect, very thoroughly vetted by those same lawyers before publication.”  
  
“Yeah, well, that’s why I pay them a mint - to keep my fat ass out of court. You really got no complaints?”  
  
“Truly. In fact, I thought that the coverage was exemplary, thorough and accurate.”  
  
Vyv can tell when someone’s buttering him up but he can also tell when someone’s lying through their teeth and this guy ain’t. Sure, the Meteor’s a rag but it doesn’t mean his people don’t work hard or don’t do good work. It’s nice to get some recognition once in awhile.  
  
Vyv clears his throat. “Well, thank you, Mr Scientia. It’s real nice of you to say so.”  
  
“Not at all. And, please, call me Ignis.”  
  
“Ignis, it is then. Call me Vyv.”  
  
“Vyv. I noted with particular interest that yours was the only newspaper to note the involvement of Chancellor Izunia in the events that transpired.”  
  
Vyv waves away the compliment. “Eh, it wasn’t a big leap. The guy’s the Nif Emperor’s right hand man - or the one pulling his strings, if you believe some sources - and it was no secret he was tailing you boys through your whole trip.”  
  
“Yours was the also the only newspaper to note that there was a similarly named Ardyn of the Lucis Caelum royal line many centuries back.”  
  
Vyv scoffs. “That ain’t no surprise either! You think those fuddy duddies at the Times or the Post are going to post about the evil ghost of some ancient royal prince teaming up with the Nifs to take over the world with their tame daemons? Hah! Updating the colour of ink on their headlines once every ten years is about as adventurous as those guys get. They think it’s some wild nonsense we made up to sell more copies.” He takes a sip of his wine then stares at Scientia - Ignis - over the rim of the glass. “But they’d be wrong, wouldn’t they?”  
  
Ignis nods, once. “Very wrong.”  
  
Vyv exhales in a rush of air. A lot of the weird stuff that the Meteor publishes is bullshit, he knows that. Most the readers know it too but sometimes it’s fun to be a little outrageous if everyone’s in on the game. But some of the weird stuff definitely ain’t fake - or no one knows for sure if it’s fake or not - and it gets buried under all the gossip and other crap. Sometimes Vyv’s glad that he can publish it all out in the open but sometimes he’s sad that real stuff just get dismissed and lining tomorrow’s bird cages.  
  
“Alright. Alright.” He takes another sip of wine.  
  
“I’m actually curious as to how you came to the truth. As you say, it’s not the first conclusion anyone would come to looking at the fact.”  
  
Vyv scoffs. “It’s my job! Look, my business is selling papers and the royal family sells papers. I gotta know which boutique is selling Prince Noctis’ new threads and which is the hot new club the pretty people are hanging out in and who’s who and why in that glittering Citadel of yours.”  
  
“Still, noticing the name of a minor prince from seven hundred years ago?”  
  
“What can I say? I’m a student of history. Sometimes it pays off, helps me connect the dots.”  
  
“And that is why I invited you here today.”  
  
Vyv breaks out in a grin. “You mean you didn’t ask me here just to wine and dine me and shower me with compliments. I’m hurt. Waddaya want?”  
  
“As the Meteor said, Ardyn Izunia was - is - involved in this whole business. I suspect he has been the driving force behind the Niflheim Empire’s expansionist policies of the last four hundred years. Using it as a tool to achieve his own goals, who have been festering how many hundreds of years longer. Ardyn Izunia is not dead. He is out there, waiting and planning, and we have to be ready to defeat him when Noct returns.”  
  
“Fine sentiments. And I’m not saying I disagree. But what use am I?” He slaps his belly, making it jiggle. “I’m not exactly up to taking the prince’s place on the field of battle.”  
  
“There are many fields of battle,” Ignis returns. “I believe our first step toward defeating Ardyn Izunia is understanding him. We have only the barest outlines of his story, most of it from his lips and no doubt distorted by his own spite and balance. We need facts - we need your skills as a newspaperman and student of history. ”  
  
Vyv gestures him to continue. “I’m listening.”  
  
“We’re recovering records from the Citadel Archives and Royal Tombs about the Lucii of previous ages. Our hope is that somewhere in there is the story of Ardyn Izunia and we would like you to find it for us.”  
  
The Meteor writer and history graduate in Vyv are both itching to get their hands on those records. But the President of Meteor Publishing Ltd pulls himself short. “I get the exclusive on the story. Including any of the other history stuff that my readers might be interested in.”  
  
“I get veto power of any story.”  
  
“Only if it endangers Prince Noctis and his mission. Directly. No covering stuff up just because it makes you look bad.”  
  
“Very well.”  
  
“And exclusive interviews with all of you. The people want to hear about your journey. They want to know about their prince.”  
  
“Interviews with Gladio, Prompto and myself only. Lady Iris is a minor and Cor and the other Crownsguard have access to confidential royal information.”  
  
“I get to ask them if they want to be interviewed - they can say yes or no and I’ll respect that and any limits they set on the topics we talk about. But I get to ask.”  
  
Ignis huffs out a sigh. “Agreed.”  
  
Vyv rubs his hands. “My pleasure to be serving the crown.”  
  
~  
  
Turns out even the shabby parts of the Leville are nice. They have the records - paper and electronic - stashed in one of the little attic rooms under the eaves. It makes for a cosy little setup, especially with the sturdy soft armchair that doesn’t protest the littlest bit when Vyv drops his bulk into it. They’ve set him up with a fancy tray of coffee, tea and biscuits but Vyv only has eyes for the records and he dives in. He makes his way through the piles, scanning and skimming, putting aside stuff that’s too new for his mission and too boring to publish.  
  
. . . There’s some juicy stuff on King Regis and his engagement with Queen Aulea - a big scandal, apparently, since she was just a commoner - that’ll make a real romantic feature, maybe on the anniversary of Lady Lunafreya and Prince Noctis’ wedding that wasn’t . . .  
  
. . . There’s some stirring stuff about the founding of the Kingsglaive, more recent, but he can definitely spin it into something good, especially with everyone exiled out of Insomnia now. Draw some parallels between what was going back then, interview some of the hunters and recruits for a human interest angle. He wonders if there are any Kingsglaive around in Lestallum . . .  
  
. . . There’s a whole stack of records from the Citadel from a hundred and fifty years back when the wall first went up - lots of jubilation and optimism that went downhill fast when the first batch of Imperial magitek soldiers turned up. That’s got to be around the time Ardyn started doing his thing with the Nifs . . .  
  
He keeps digging and digging, going further back, gulping at the coffee that’s gone cold without him noticing, until-. Bingo. He hits it.  
  
It’s old stuff. The dating’s real weird, a mix of Old Calendar and New Calendar, which Vyv guesses puts it right on the border of when Solheim broke up and the four new kingdoms took over for real. Not that it narrows it down much - there’s about thousand years of Dark Ages squashed into the dividing line between Old and New. But he can see ‘Lucis’ and ‘Lucis Caelum’ so at least he’s on the right track. He keeps reading.  
  
Far as he can tell, they’re court records a couple of generations into the new Lucis Caelum royal family. Grandpa’s the bigwig - “the First King, Champion of the Light, the Saviour Blessed by the Gods” - and Vyv’d bet big money that he’s the guy in all the legends, the one who got the Crystal and the Ring from the Gods. Next in line is his son, the Crown Prince, who sounds decent enough, lots about his “prowess in combat”, his “devotion to the gods” and his “loyaltie to his wife” and his “service to his people”. Overall, a standup guy. But then there’s trouble.  
  
_-two princes, separated by less than a year, equally matched in form and grace and skill in all things. But rather than a blessing on their House, they brought only discord as enmity grew between them. Worse still, their antipathy stirred strife at court, breeding factions supporting one brother or the other. If Izunia declared the sky blue, his brother Ardyn and his supporters would counter that, nay, it was red as blood-_  
  
_-punishment for their discord, the Scourge of Stars, banished from the land by the Blessing of the Gods unto their grandfather, returned once again. No kinder or gentler than the previous curse, it made monsters of men and veiled the sun in the sky-_  
  
_-touched even the great House of Lucis Caelum and the Queen herself passed into shadow, wrought into unnatural form and snarling like a mindless beast-_  
  
_-that the Gods favoured their House once again for, rather than succumb to the Scourge, Prince Ardyn remained hale and the daemons plaguing the poor villagers of Prayerie were cast away once more. Thus was the Scourge of Stars turned away from Lucis for the second time by the Royal House and fresh rejoicing o’ertook-_  
  
_-the Grace reached not the court, which was torn further asunder between the two princes. Mutterings stirred that why should Crown and Throne and Ring pass to the elder when it was the younger Blessed by the Gods-_  
  
_-gravest misfortune as the stray thrust of a garula’s tusk gored the Crown Prince through his heart-_  
  
_-the First King, favoured of the Gods, passed into their embrace while stricken with grief over his son’s death-_  
  
_-prince was unclean and contaminated by the touch of daemons, feeding on the Scourge to grow ever stronger and spread it ever further so as to usurp his brother’s rightful place on the throne-_  
  
_-long simmering for these long years, erupted finally in violence on the eve of the coronation of Izunia Lucis Caelum II-_  
  
_-not piercing Ardyn’s skin with steel but instead burned alive to a blackened crisp unto death for fear that the daemon Scourge would burst forth and spread across the land again-_  
  
~  
  
**SANIA**  
  
Securing funding for ecological wetlands field research has always been an uphill battle. Government preferred to pour their money into defense research, private industry only wanted to hear that whatever endangered frog species wasn’t going to prevent them from driving in the bulldozers and covering everything in concrete and both of them wanted twice the work done on only half the money. And that was before the Long Night. These days people have better things to spend their money on that “chasing after frogs”.  
  
So Sania’s more than a little sceptical when Gladiolus Amicitia offers her 10 000 gil to review some scientific findings.  
  
“Mhm. Ten thousand gil for the sort of task I would’ve been expected to do gratis back home in Insomnia. What’re these findings related to anyway, turning sand into gold ore?”  
  
“As valuable as,” says Gladiolus with an unrepentant grin. “When we were in Gralea, our route through Zegnautus Keep took us through some of their R &D division. We got our hands on some of their data.”  
  
“Weapons aren’t even close to my field of expertise,” says Sania immediately.  
  
“What about bioweapons?”  
  
That startles her into a string a curses that her undergraduates would be shocked she knows. It’s an open secret in the scientific community that ethics aren’t exactly the top priority when it comes to research conducted by the Niflheim Empire. It’s one thing to hear vague departmental gossip though - quite another to be offered the opportunity to see what they’ve been doing for herself.  
  
“Fine. I’ll take a look. No promises though. Unless they were working on frogs - maybe lizards - I’m probably of limited help.”  
  
“We appreciate it. Iggy had a look but he says he’s just a talented amateur. We wanted the best scientist in Lucis to check it out.”  
  
“Hmph, flattery will get you nowhere. I’ll report back in a couple of days.”  
  
“I’ll bring by your gil this afternoon. Thanks again, Sania.”  
  
~  
  
‘Reporting back’ actually means presenting to a room of Lestallum’s great and good in the city council chambers. Gladiolus is there, as is his lanky friend with the glasses and the kid with hair like a chocobo, but so is the Mayor, Head of the Life Sciences Department at Lestallum Technical Institute and a Hunters Guild representative.  
  
“There’s a lot going on here and I’ve just scratched the surface,” warns Sania. “I would strongly advise having at least a specialist parasitologist review these findings, ideally in conjunction with an atmospheric science expert.  
  
“The gist of it is this: the Niflheim Empire was studying the parasite causing Starscourge with a view to weaponising it - and there’s evidence they succeeded, to a point. They classified the organism as a species _Plasmodium_ but it certainly doesn’t behave like any _Plasmodium_ I’ve ever heard of and I don’t know what methodology they used to arrive at that classification - that part of the data is missing - so I don’t know how reliable their findings in this area actually are.  
  
“Their findings on the effect of the putative _Plasmodium_ were certainly more thorough. Direct inoculation into the bloodstream of a human subject with a spore sample of sufficiently high concentration caused the, hm, ‘metamorphosis’ is probably the most fitting term, of the human host into what we know colloquially as daemons. The metamorphosis is accompanied by certain predictable side effects including reduced cognition, increased stamina and healing but also a greatly reduced tolerance to sunlight.  
  
“The _Plasmodium_ response to light exposure varies by life cycle stage. In the host, it causes extensive molecular damage via uncontrolled enzymatic overactivity catalysed by the light - in effect, the host and living parasite is destroyed, leaving spores to disperse. Light has no effect on loose spores in the environment except at sufficient atmospheric altitudes where it absorbs wavelengths of visible light. In sufficiently high concentrations and widespread geographic dispersal - such as we are seeing currently - it results in blockage of sunlight.  
  
“There are questions that require further investigation. The Imperial research reported a positive relationship between inoculum concentration, increased aggression and reduced cognition - past threshold concentrations, the resulting daemons were described as uncontrollable to a degree that they were unuseable in the magitek process of creating troops. With the observed increase in daemonic activity and distribution during the Long Night, does this imply that there is sufficiently high environmental contamination of the air to create daemons spontaneously? If so, what factors determine vulnerability to the metamorphosis - obviously, not everyone is susceptible to the same degree or we’d all be sitting around this table having this discussion as daemons.”  
  
~  
  
The data from the Imperial’s research is certainly disturbing but Sania has other problems - frog problems - to address. She tags along to the Vesperpool the next time a hunter expedition heads out. They’re used to her now, for the most part. She’d been on the receiving end of some hard looks when she’d first started going - why’s this scrawny academic wasting our time and slowing us down? - until they learned that in swamps, Professor Sania di Ranae doesn’t slow anyone down. She’s punctual, organised, knowledgeable and does her share of the work. She’s not boasting when she says that they look forward to having her on expeditions now.  
  
The team scatters when they reach the Vesperpool - not too far to be dangerous or lose track of each other but also not so close that they’re easy to track for the beasts and the daemons. She hangs her torch on belt, light on the dimmest setting, and makes for the western shore where she’d seen common spotted reed frog tadpoles before. She wants to make a count of them, see how they compare to the numbers from her tally just before the Long Night fell. It’ll be interesting to see if any have developed undergone their metamorphosis and matured into frogs.  
  
The thought reminds her again of the Imperial research and sets her scientist brain racing again on thoughts of ‘what if’. What if someone gets a cut on this trip? Are there enough _Plasmodium_ spores in the area to infect and turn them into a daemon? What if the _Plasmodium_ spores can infect by other routes, like inhalation? What if Prince Noctis comes back to a kingdom of daemons, like the Empire’s rumoured to be? What if-  
  
“Hey, Sania.”  
  
She jumps a little at the quiet greeting, chastising herself for getting complacent - it’s a good way to get eaten out here. She squints a little against the torchlight and makes out Navyth on the fishing dock.  
  
“Hey, yourself. How’s the fishing today?”  
  
He makes a grumbling noise of dissatisfaction. “Not biting. Same as every day this week. And everything I managed to reel in last week was undersized.”  
  
“Damn.”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Same with the frogs,” she offers. “Far fewer of the tadpoles matured than I would’ve liked to see.”  
  
And that’s the problem. Regardless of how they lost the light - unethical Imperial experimentation, natural mutation of a parasite, will of the Gods - it’s impacting ecological systems all over the territory she’s checked and she’d bet it extends all over Eos. No light means no photosynthesis, which wipes out a truly huge proportion of the plants in the area from trees to grasses. No photosynthesizing plants means no food for the herbivores dependent on them for food, which in turn eliminates food sources for carnivores. It might be slower in the making but the disaster from removing light is as catastrophic as it would’ve been to remove all the air. And they’re just starting to see that cascade start here in the Vesperpool.  
  
“Any ideas, prof?” asks Navyth.  
  
“Aquaculture, greenhouses, artificial lighting, intensive farming, an enormous shift in agricultural practices. Learn to like eating things that grow in the dark. Or a synthetic food supplement. It might be enough to keep us fed and alive for long enough.”  
  
“What about the fishes and the frogs and the wetlands though?”  
  
She sighs. “That’s the question, isn’t it.”  
  
~  
  
**IRIS**  
  
“Hey! Hey! _HEY!_ ”  
  
Her deportment tutor would have a heart attack if she could see Iris screeching at a stranger in public - “You’re a lady of House Amicitia, not a seagull who’s spotted a fish” - but since Insomnia fell, she’s learned not to take familiar faces for granted. So she keeps screeching as she races down the steps from the plaza, dodging people the whole way.  
  
He moves faster that you’d think, considering the limp and the crowds, but Iris catches up just before he turns onto Outlook Drive gets lost in the crowds.  
  
“Hey,” she says, panting.  
  
He doesn’t even look up, just keeps his head down and grumbles something under his breath until he realises that she’s standing her ground, not getting out of his way like a polite person - she can practically hear Madame Decens’ gasp of horror.  
  
“Hey, what’s the big-”  
  
“Libertus, right? The Kingsglaive from Insomnia? It’s me, Iris - Iris Amicitia.”  
  
Iris grins and claps her hands in delight at the recognition dawning. “Oh, yeah. Hi.” He stares at her like he’s surprised she’s alive. It’s not an usual reaction. The Empire’s attack focused on the Citadel and the nearest districts, full of state offices and ministries - and neighbourhoods where the nobles lives. Iris made it out with Cor’s help. A lot of people weren’t as lucky.  
  
“I’m so glad to see you’re alright. Are you here by yourself?”  
  
Libertus tenses up and looks down at his feet again. “Yeah.”  
  
Because she might’ve been the worst deportment student in Insomnia but she wasn’t stupid or thoughtless. She’s learned never to ask after anyone specific because the answer is usually ‘dead’ or ‘missing’ or, maybe worse, ‘I don’t know’.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Libertus shuffles his feet, like he’s looking for an excuse to escape, so Iris jumps in. “Were you heading out to dinner? I was. Let’s eat together!”  
  
She ignores Madame Decens’ voice in her head - “A lady waits to be invited then accepts graciously, she doesn’t force her company on the reluctant” - as she steers Libertus toward the food carts. She’s half prepared for him to just leave but he follows and even stands waiting as she debates the various food options aloud, even though he doesn’t offer an opinion. She finally thrusts a fistful of gil at the friendly meat skewer guy who’s always giving away free samples and grabs some of everything, handing half of it over to Libertus.  
  
“Let’s eat at the outlook!”  
  
The view’s still spectacular, just scarier these days. The whole vista’s pitch dark so the stars twinkle even brighter and the Disc of Cauthess gives of a sullen red glow. Smaller flares of flame sometimes burst out in the darkness - Gladdy says they’re burning swords that Red Giants use - but this far away you can’t see the monsters, only the light.  
  
Libertus looks at the meat suspiciously before taking a bite. Maybe the taste reassures him it’s not poisoned because he eats fast after that, gulping down the food like a starving sabertusk. It makes Iris feel slightly less guilty - sure, she strong-armed him into dinner but at least she’s feeding him something he likes.  
  
“The meat skewers are so good, right?”  
  
“Malbo smul.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“They’re called malbo smul. When you eat them with this sauce. That’s what we called this dish back home.”  
  
‘Home’ is like people - a dangerous topic to talk about these days. Iris lost their manor in Insomnia and her dad but she still has Gladdy and his friends, Talcott and Dustin, Cor and Monica and the rest of the Crownsguard. She has a lot more than a lot of people who lost everything when Insomnia fell - if they hadn’t lost it even earlier when King Regis’ wall retreated to protect only the Crown City.  
  
“Where’s home?” she ask.  
  
“Galadh.” Libertus is staring out into the darkness and Iris wonders what he’s really seeing.  
  
She’s never been, of course, has barely heard of it. It was barely a paragraph in one of her geography schoolbooks in the chapter on ‘Other Lucian Territories’ where they put the stuff that didn’t matter much or fit anywhere else. All she remembers is the primary industry is fishing and its annual rainfall was the highest of all Lucis’ provinces - thank you, Insomnia Royal Academy, that’s very useful.  
  
“I went home. After Insomnia fell. No point staying. And it’s not far - hell of a lot closer than goddamn Lestallum.” He sniffs, wipes his nose. “Stupid idea. Nothing there but Nifs. Whole place was overrun when the night came. And I ran here.”  
  
The food sits heavy in her stomach and her appetite vanishes. “I’m sorry your home’s gone. But I’m glad you made it out okay.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.” Libertus clears his throat. “It’s good you made it out too. You guys come straight to Lestallum?”  
  
She’s surprised he hasn’t heard the whole story, the bits about Noctis and his friends anyway. So she fills him in and adds what she was doing too - waiting and worrying, mostly. Maybe it was worth it and she’s good enough at it now to hang on until Noctis comes back.  
  
Now she’s the one sniffling.  
  
“That’s tough,” says Libertus. “I always hated waiting back at headquarters when they’d send some of us out on missions. The waiting gets to you. Which I did a lot of with this stupid leg.”  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“You find something else to do.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
He shrugs. “Polish armour. Sharpen weapons. Drills - whichever ones I could do with this thing.” He slaps his leg in disgust. “Cleaning, when I got really desperate. Anything to help out and make the time pass quicker.”  
  
Iris isn’t useful. She knows that. “A lady graces the world with her charm and beauty” according to Madam Decens - ornamental, not functional. At least back home there was some point to her and all those boring deportment lessons - learning to look and listen, how to represent her family and Lucis and be a credit to them, exercising the diplomatic arts to help her nation. Which is not that useful out here. Out here she’s Lady Iris who can’t fight without backup, can’t cook without burning things, can’t work because she just doesn’t know how.  
  
“I don’t know how to do any of that stuff,” she confesses.  
  
Libertus shrugs. “So learn. If I can do it with my bum leg, you can.”  
  
~  
  
It takes a couple of days to screw up her courage because Cor is - not scary but intimidating. He has responsibilities, heavy ones that are more important than ‘help Iris boost her self-esteem’. He definitely notices when she tags along with Gladdy, Ignis and Prompto to weapons training. Dawn training is traditional for everyone in the Lucian Military - Gladdy went every morning back home, joining the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive, and Ignis went if he could spare the time from his duties. Noctis would be there if someone dragged him out of bed.  
  
It’s different here in Lestallum. Crownsguard members came when they were in town and so did a lot of hunters but there were lots of civilians too - people who studied martial arts, people who wanted to get some exercise, people who were just curious about seeing the legendary Cor the Immortal, including kids.  
  
Iris is so nervous her hands are sweating when she peels off from Gladdy and his friends - they’re headed for the front and she’s not standing there for everyone to stare at when she messes up - instead headed for a cluster of kids at the side. Everyone mills around aimlessly until, as the clock strikes 7Am exactly, Cor whistles once and starts. First slow and easy with stretches, then simple movements, then speeding up until Iris realises she’s panting and sweating through her shirt.  
  
They split them up for the second half the session - roughly, people who know what they’re doing go with Cor, while Monica’s on duty with the amateurs today and herds them to the opposite side of the park. None of them have weapons, even though Iris could probably have borrowed something from Gladdy but he’s told her that waving a weapon you can’t use is more dangerous than not having one in the first place. Besides, she’s here to learn, not pretend she can do things she can’t.  
  
So they start with unarmed self-defense - “As useful against a mugger as a garulet,” says Monica - and Iris tries to imagine she’s using these strikes against actual enemies, beasts or even daemons. It feels less awkward than she thought it would.  
  
~  
  
**GLADIOLUS**  
  
“You’re strictly on support.”  
  
“Right!”  
  
“Med aid only - don’t even think about engaging in combat.”  
  
“Got it!”  
  
“If it looks like we’re going to lose, you withdraw. No heroics! Just get back and get help.”  
  
“Aye, aye!”  
  
Gladio sighs. “Are you sure you want to come along? It’s just a routine evacuation.”  
  
“Yes! C’mon, Gladdy, don’t you trust me? I can help, I promise!”  
  
“I trust you just fine, I just worry,” he mutters.  
  
Iris hugs him. “I know. But I’ve been training hard and I listen. Let me help you guys. Please?”  
  
~  
  
The route they’ve plotted to reach Galdin Quay takes them southeast across Cleigne and Duscae - it’s a little meandering, with some stretches between refueling opportunities that are longer than Gladio likes, but they can check on the farms and ranches that are still operating and pick up supplies too, if they need them. It’s the last part of the route that has him gritting his teeth - long tunnels, switchbacks and winding roads, all through mountainous terrain that’s perfect for an ambush. It was bad enough driving with Noct through the area - Gladio was always half-tensed for an attack along a stretch where they couldn’t escape quickly - and trying it now with Iris is just as bad. He’s proud that she wants to help and that she’s working at it too - a true Amicitia - but it doesn’t mean he ever stops worrying.  
  
They have a good crew though - a handful of experienced hunters who’ve all done at least a dozen evacuations - and thank the gods, they make it to Galdin Quay in one piece and ahead of schedule too. Even in the pitch dark, it’s still a beautiful place. The moon is full and bathing the white sand on the beach in gentle light. The lamps have been lit along the boardwalk and in the resort too and they’re glowing, warm and welcoming and flickering with the breeze coming in from the sea. Gladio can smell the salt in the air and the rushing whoosh of the waves as they sweep up the beach and he can almost pretend that he’s just on a trip with his friends, showing his sister the sights on a school break.  
  
It’s not until they roll down the last stretch of road into town that the illusion breaks. Rolls of barbed wire are strewn across the beach, sharp points glinting in the moonlight. It’s also been stretched along the sides of the boardwalk so one wrong step would end in shredded skin, not just a trip into shallows ocean. It’s been wrapped around the parking area too, stretching right to the roof, and the path from the parking to the boardwalk is fenced and enclosed just as high. The little tourist shop is still manned but this time the salesman is holding a gun instead of tourist pamphlets about local attractions.  
  
“Evacuation team from Lestallum, Gladiolus Amicitia speaking. We were called by Coctura.”  
  
The guy sighs in relief. “You made it! They’re waiting for you up the restaurant - go on ahead.”  
  
The Quayside Cradle and restaurant are about as deserted as he’s ever seen. No diners enjoying the fresh seafood, no romantic couples whispering in the dark corners, no one at all except Coctura, a handful of staff and Dino. They’re clustered around the bar and go back and forth between checking their watches and staring out into the darkness at the sea.  
  
“Hey! Big guy! Are we glad to see you!” Dino rushes over to pump Gladio’s hand. “We heard you guys were pros but, hey, we worry, y’know?”  
  
“Perfectly understandable,” says Gladio.  
  
“Thank you for coming,” says Coctura. “Can we offer you some refreshment? I’m sure it’s been a long drive all the way from Lestallum! We have some rooms made up if you need them.” She gestures at the trays of finger food behind her, as meticulously made as for a high society luncheon, accompanied by icy glasses of water, each topped with a spiral of lemon. Her welcome is just as crisp and gracious as during previous visits but the stress is clear in the new lines on her face and the bags under her eyes.  
  
“Some water would be great but then we’d better get moving. We’ll load up everything and then we can head out. Are you guys packed?”  
  
She looks stunned for a moment and stares around her at the empty restaurant. “Yes, yes, we are. But so fast?”  
  
“Afraid so. Generally by the time people call us to help evacuate, things are pretty bad. We don’t want to get pinned down here.”  
  
“O-of course.”  
  
The other staff take it as a cue to start moving and, with the help of the crew, they start carrying belongings out to parking area. After the last few months of experience, evacuation teams have developed a protocol to keep things running smoothly. One big suitcase per evacuee gets packed in the truck and they can bring along as big a carry on bag as they can handle alone. Pets can come too but they have to be leashed or caged or sedated. Food supplies are always welcome but the evacuation trucks don’t have refrigeration units. Coctura’s staff are pros though - Gladio guesses it comes from all the packing and unpacking that’s part of running a resort.  
  
“It’s hard to believe this will all be gone,” she says, staring around at the resort again. “I thought I’d live my life here.”  
  
“It’s a tough decision,” Gladio agrees. “But it’s the safe one for you and your staff.” He’s seen places where people tried to hang on too long, fight off the daemons with not enough people or weapons or light. Mostly no one survives and the deaths are ugly and painful.  
  
Coctura shudders. “We never realised how alone we were out here before this. And how surrounded at the same time.”  
  
“Makes sense. People used to come to Galdin Quay to get away and relax, enjoy the seclusion.”  
  
“It’s hard to get in and out but we’re so open too - mountains on one side and the sea on the other. With daemons filling both!”  
  
“The barbed wire?” Gladio guesses.  
  
Coctura nods. “To slow them down when they tried to attack. Enough to warn us anyway so we could help or get everyone inside safely. But we had other problems too. There’s no farmland near here either - apart from the fish, all our food used to be trucked in from so far away. And then the fishing got so dangerous because of the daemon attacks.” She takes a ragged breath. “I’m surprised we hung on this long.”  
  
“You did a good job looking after your people,” says Gladio.  
  
“I hope so.” She laughs then, and it half sounds like crying. “But I’m still going to miss it here. This was my seaside paradise.”  
  
He knows how she feels, a bit. He remembers coming here as a kid on family vacations. Paddling in the water with his grandma, his first attempts at fishing with his dad. He feels a pang of sadness at the thought of walking away, relinquishing it to daemons and darkness. Sometimes he counts himself lucky that in his last memories of Insomnia, his home city’s as grand as she ever was.  
  
“Well, Lestallum’s pretty far from the seaside but it’s a nice place too. And we send patrols out to Cape Caem pretty regularly. So there’s still fish to cook with. You could even tag along if you wanted.” He pats her shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”  
  
He leaves her to say her goodbyes to the resort that was her home and heads back to the truck to check on the packing. He’s pleased to see Iris helping people get settled in the truck, helping shift things around so everything and everyone fits.  
  
Dino comes over, shakes his hand again. “Hey, big guy, thanks again for helping us out. Really.”  
  
“No problem. We’re glad to help.”  
  
“And, uh, I’m sorry about Prince Noctis. I heard the news. Reporters gossip, y’know.”  
  
It’s still a raw red wound. He’s the King’s Shield, the Guardian that always supposed to have has his King’s back, the very last person in his King’s corner and the last to fall in his service. The rational part of Gladio says that he can’t stand against the plans of Gods and Astrals and damned immortals but it still feels like failure to just let Noctis just go and disappear alone into the Crystal.  
  
“Yeah, thanks,” he mutters.  
  
Dino rummages around in his pocket and holds out a package clumsily wrapped in a faded handkerchief. “I was working on this for the next time you guys came around. I know he can’t use it anymore but maybe you can? It’s the best I ever made, I swear.”  
  
The blue diamonds are small but flawless, as clear as Galdin Quay seawater on a calm summer day. The bracelet it’s set in is slight and simple but sturdy - the clasp would take a hit in combat and hold strong. Gladio slips it onto his wrist and clicks it closed.  
  
“I’ll look after it for him until he gets back,” he promises.  
  
Dino nods. “Good enough for me.”  
  
“You thinking of opening up shop in Lestallum? You could make a mint - accessories are in high demand these days and your are good.”  
  
“Aw, thanks, big guy! Me and Coctura are still figuring things out - maybe a restaurant and jewellery place in one?”  
  
“Definitely unusual.”  
  
“Hah, get them through the door with the unusual idea!” Dino laughs. “I been wanting to make jewellery for awhile now and this could be my big break but, gotta say, it’s harder than I thought to leave the reporter gig behind. Seems, I don’t know, more important now. That people stay connected and know what’s what.”  
  
“Yeah, it really does.”  
  
Because the darkness and the distance are really working against them now. Lestallum has a local paper, a small weekly that gets delivered in the main city, but everyone outside depends on the radio and internet for news - no one’s volunteering to play paperboy across the region with daemons chasing them through the darkness. Gladio can’t imagine living out on one of the remote outposts, nothing connecting you to the world except a voice on the radio that could go out with the power. He always liked camping and being outdoors but maybe he’s a big city boy after all because the thought makes his skin crawl.  
  
~  
  
**DINO**  
  
He’s strictly a print guy - newspapers, magazines, even blogs. It’s mostly because that’s what he likes, seeing the words in front of his eyes, but it’s also because he ain’t exactly got a voice that booms like thunder and is smooth and silk. Nasal voice or not, he still somehow finds himself signed up to a weekly shift on Lestallum public radio.  
  
It’s not a fancy gig. It doesn’t even pay - strictly volunteers only and back in the day it was mainly college kids from the Institute studying communications that would be on air. There’s still a lot of college kids around all hours but these days there’s just as many reporters from Insomnia keeping their hand in the game. Hell, rumour has it the President of the Meteor even takes a spare shift now and then!  
  
The eclectic mix of staff filters through in the stuff they’re putting out on air too. Sometimes it’s music - everything from old time stuff to the modern things that sound like someone banging on a pot with a ladle for three and a half minutes - sometimes public service announcements from the city council or the hospital, sometimes interviews with famous people in town, sometimes public lectures from experts. Some kid talked about collecting cactuar dolls for a whole goddamn hour this morning. Who’d have thought there was enough about cactuar dolls that would fill two hours of air time?  
  
For Dino’s slot, it’s news but with a bit of personality. It’s what he knows and what he loves and it helps keep him in the game - makes him keep his ears open and his eyes sharp, work his sources and use his brain.  
  
He watches the clock count down to the hour when his shift starts then clears his throat and starts talking.  
  
“Good evening, Lestallum, Cleigne, Duscae, Leide, Lucis and the rest of the world. This is Dino Ghiranze bringing you news fresh as the morning’s catch from Galdin Quay. Which, as you probably heard, is no more. I was on the last truck out of the place and I’m sad to say that the seaside resort of the rich and relaxed is no more. Raise your pina coladas in remembrance and dream of the sea - I know I am.  
  
“Its closure leaves the Vannath Coast without a major population centre and big chunks of Leide - anything south of Longwythe Rest Area and the legendary Wiz’s Chocobo Post - frontier territory. The most recent hunter reports are that the Vannath Coast campsites are still standing and functional but, please, exercise extreme caution. Any settlements still in the area are welcome to keep in touch with us here in Lestallum and reach out for any help they need.  
  
“In brighter news, I can report that both Longwythe and Hammerhead are going strong with permanent satellite hunter stations being established in both locations. Researchers from the Lestallum Technical Institute are also on site as part of field work monitoring monster and daemon activities in the area so defences can be adjusted accordingly. The public lectures reporting latest project findings are aired at 10AM on the first Friday of every month right here on Lestallum Public Radio or feel free to attend in person in the Grand Auditorium.  
  
“A little closer to home, Wiz’s Chocobo Post report that their black chocobo breeding programme has been going from strength to strength! Training staff rode chocobos from the first batch of hatchlings in the woods earlier this week as a part of regular patrols in the Nebulawood and Malacchi Hills. Successful domestic breeding of the legendary black chocobo has been a pet project for Wiz for years because of its increased stamina over long distances, greater ferocity in battle and stealth in enemy territory. The five black chocobos are currently available for rent for 100 gil a day and you’d better be quick because the reservation line is already dozens of people long! Never fear though as Wiz estimates the next batch of hatchlings will be grown enough to ride in approximately eight weeks. We’ll keep you posted.  
  
“Sania, our resident Professor of Frogs, and expert fisherman Navyth also report that the first aquaculture trials are underway in the Vesperpool. Along with the new experimental greenhouses raised behind the power plant and the hillside market gardens, this harvest marks the first time the majority of fresh produce in Partellum Market was grown here in Lestallum. Open every day at dawn, come and sample the freshest that Lestallum has to offer!  
  
“Although Cape Caem might be supplying our fish until the Vesperpool aquaculture project scales up fully - pardon the pun - it brought a catch of a different kind two days ago with a ship of civilians arriving from Altissia. As some listeners may have heart, Altissia has been hard hit by heightened aquatic daemon activity since the Long Night fell, with those romantic canals being deadly entrances into the heart of the city. We’re sorry to report that most of the glorious floating city has evacuated, mainly to other islands of the Accordo Protectorate. This is the first boat to have reached Lucis and puts to rest the debate that was raging about whether to cut power to the Cape Caem lighthouse - the light stays on.  
  
“The new construction driving the expansion of Lestallum in the south-east has wrapped up just in time to welcome our new friends from Altissia. Designed in collaboration between the Lestallum Technical Institute’s School of Architecture, School of Ecology, Department of Environmental Engineering and the EXineris Power Company, the new housing development was designed to have be low environmental impact and high energy efficiency without losing that special Lestallum style and spirit.  
  
“The construction companies haven’t been slacking off though with renovations of Lestallum’s main plaza and east districts completed today! Mayor Rose will be at the official opening ceremony tonight of the newly named Dawn District and all residents are welcome to celebrate the unveiling of the gorgeous new store fronts, dining establishments and open public spaces. Come visit and indulge - whether you’re in the mood for Altissian seafood at Leviathan, grilled meats at The Happy Behemoth, hearty Galadhian homemade at MMMalbo! or my lovely fiancee’s dessert specialities at Delice, there is something to please every tastebud!  
  
“Well, that’s about all from me tonight, folks. Before I go though, I just want to say something. It’s been a real tough time for everybody all over. Real tough. Tough enough that a lot of people - including me - didn’t think we were gonna make it. Any of us. So I want to say to thank you to everyone out there helping people out. Whether it’s the big names everyone recognises or just a nice stranger on the street who does their good deeds on the quiet. You all should know, people appreciate what you’re doing and that you’re not just letting it all go to shit. You’re doing good work. Thank you. Goodnight.”

~


End file.
